


Reeling Through These Midnight Streets

by bonzai_bunny



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Animated Universe, DCU
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bruce is a bisexual disaster, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Gen, Multi, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-04-16 23:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14176014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonzai_bunny/pseuds/bonzai_bunny
Summary: Bruce Wayne wasn't always the paragon of justice known as Batman. Mostly, he was just a scared little boy trying make his way through the world. Or, five times Bruce felt like he was alone and one time he didn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I don't normally do chapter fics but I got a plan and everything so hopefully this doesn't go astray. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Emetophobia tw for this chapter.

_Bruce - Age 8_

 

Bruce bounced down the stairs of Wayne Manor, his homemade cape billowing after him. He landed with a satisfying thud at the bottom of the staircase before turning into the dining room, where Alfred was waiting.

“Ah, Master Bruce, right on time.”

“Good afternoon, Alfred,” Bruce replied and sat down in the chair next to the head of the table, which was empty.

“Where is Mother?” Bruce asked as Alfred put his plate in front of him--an array of smoked salmon tea sandwiches and apple chutney--with a frown.

“I’m afraid Mrs. Wayne has been held up by her garden work. First frost is approaching, sir.”

Bruce tried not to feel too disappointed. This was the second saturday in a row that she had missed their lunch. Bruce knew how important and time-consuming the garden was to his mother, especially since she overlooked the maintenance and landscaping herself. Bruce forced a smile and nodded.

“Alright, thank you Alfred. If you see Mother, tell her I want to wear my cape to the show tonight.”

“I will, sir,” Alfred said with a bow. “Enjoy your meal.”

He left, leaving Bruce at the long table alone. Bruce hated to eat in the manor by himself, especially in the cavernous dining room with all of the previous Wayne generations staring at him in their portraits. Alfred would never share his meals with Bruce, claiming it was improper and Bruce’s father was rarely at home, midday, on a Saturday.

Bruce ate as quickly as possible and when he was done, he decided to take some sweets from his mother’s stash. If he was going to be alone all day, then he was going to treat himself.

Bruce knew that his mother suspected that he stole from her, but she couldn’t confront Bruce without his father finding out that the stash existed. Thomas Wayne was a kind and generous person, but he had opinions about how much sugar a person should eat and Alfred backed him up on it. This was why Mother hid her sweets in the false bottom of a vase on the top floor and why Bruce had a virtual empire of candy hidden around the manor.

Bruce checked the vase and found a box of macaroons, some of which he ate immediately and then stuffed the rest in his pocket to stash for later. He made sure he had used his cape to wipe down the surface of the vase so he wouldn’t leave any fingerprints--one of the reasons his mother was never able to verify that it was him--and put it back in its place. Then he went into the downstairs library and crawled into a vent that lead to one of the manor’s numerous secret tunnels. The tunnels were one of the primary reasons his stash had never been discovered. Martha Wayne did not grow up in their house and did not know all of its secrets and his father had no reason to believe such a stash existed.

Bruce picked up one of his flashlights and crawled to what he called his central hub. He was pretty sure it was an area used to hide alcohol during something called Prohibition, but ‘central hub’ sounded cooler. There, along with his largest stash of candy, were several books his mother had forbidden him to read because in her words, they were too gruesome, a nest of blankets and pillows, a few skull and bone parts (from when he found deceased animals on their property), books on herpetology and a pet rat named Nyx. The rat was the most illegal and difficult to obtain item in the whole nest. She was harmless but his mother detested rodents and a cage (or a living animal for that matter) wasn’t exactly easy to sneak in.

“Hello, Nyx,” Bruce cooed as he opened the cage and she climbed onto his hand. He stroked her soft black fur and gave her a piece of chocolate to nibble on. It was silly, but sometimes Bruce felt like she was the only one in the whole world who understood him.

He sighed and flopped down on some pillows, ever mindful of his cape.

“The mansion is empty again,” he complained. Not that it would make a difference if people were there. Whether it was the children of their staff, or the kids at his school, not many were interested in playing with him like he wanted to play. It was fine to give away smiles and play tag and hide and seek, but not many kids his age liked silence. Bruce’s idea of a fun day was exploring the manor grounds for neat animals and then reading all afternoon. Other adults called him “serious” so he preferred the company of his own parents more than anyone else. Bruce unwrapped a chocolate and shoved it into his mouth. He had yet to find a friend worthy enough to show his hub to.

  


Bruce spent the rest of the day eating chocolate, listening to the The Rolling Stones on his Walkman and flipping through the _Hounds of Baskerville_. Sherlock Holmes was his favorite hero, after Zorro. The Sherlock Holmes books were about the only mysteries his mother approved of. He didn't understand why, when she had taught him so much about forensics. The afternoon went by in a blur and Bruce started when glanced at his watch and saw that it was now 4:25. His father would be home soon! Bruce wiped off all evidence of chocolate on his face and cleaned up the rest of his sweets (an encounter with some roaches made him learn his lesson). He changed the hay in Nxy’s enclosure, gave her food, and pet her head before putting her back in the cage.

“I’ll see you after the show,” he promised. “I’ll tell you all about it.”

He exited the tunnels and ended up in the wine cellar. Bruce planned to surprise his parents when he entered the kitchen from below. He knew that shortly after he got home, his father took to a cup of coffee after work and refused to let Alfred make it for him (“Sometimes a man has to do things for himself, Al” he’d always say).

Bruce was about to open the door when he heard voices but he hesitated when he heard,

“Alfred said Bruce wants to wear his cape to the movies.”

His mother didn’t sound particularly happy or enthused about it. There was a pause.

“I think we should let him,” his father answered.

“Tommy…”

“I know you’re concerned about him appearing normal--”

She was?

“But this is a perfectly normal thing for a little boy to do.”

“Tommy, I don’t give a damn about him ‘appearing normal,’ but it’s hard enough for me to get along with Margaret and her friends without them bringing Bruce into him. They’re going to be at the theater tonight too.”

There was a longer pause and Bruce felt sicker and sicker with each passing second. He had no idea that his parents cared about him not being like everybody else.

“I told you to stop worrying about them,” Thomas said. “They don’t matter.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you don’t hear what they say to me!” There was another pause, a clinking of china. Martha took a deep breath before admitting, “One of the groundskeepers said he saw Bruce digging up a dead animal.”

He was only seeing how far it had decomposed! He wanted to tell them that but the tone in her voice made it clear what she thought about that.

“Do you know what happen if Margaret Carrington found out? It wouldn’t just affect me, it would trickle down to Bruce too!”

Bruce couldn’t breathe. He backed away from the door and, suddenly, the cellar wasn’t a part of his grand tunnel system, but cold and musty, a place to put things where they were forgotten. It was one thing for kids to think he was weird, but his own parents? Bruce rubbed at his eyes, absolutely determined not to cry, and quickly went back the way he came. He avoided his parents by using the servant stairway and fled to his room with heavy stomach.

Bruce’s chest still hurt and he tore off his cape in disgust. He glared at it, like it was the source of his problems. Feeling a little satisfied after he kicked it, Bruce buried his face into a pillow. He stayed that way until there was a sharp knock on his door.  
“Master Bruce? Your parents want you to get dressed for the theatre. They said they would prefer you wear your navy tux and don’t forget to comb your hair, sir.”

Bruce cleared his throat so his voice didn’t sound as raw as he felt and answered,

“Alright, Alfred. I'll be out soon.”

“Very good, sir.”

Bruce got dressed slowly because his limbs felt like amber. His enthusiasm for Zorro had dimmed. He washed his face and combed his hair and took a deep breath before leaving his room to face his parents.

Thomas Wayne was waiting in the atrium, looking as debonaire as he did whenever he decided to dress up from scrubs and labcoats. His black hair was combed and parted neatly and his beard was trimmed. Thomas smiled brightly when he spotted Bruce plodding down the stairs.

“Hey champ!” He greeted. Then, he looked Bruce over and frowned. “You aren’t going to wear your cape?”

Bruce puffed out his chest and shook his head.

“No. Wearing capes is for babies.”

Thomas gave him a sidelong glance but said, “Okay.”

He then proceeded to ask Bruce about his day and tell Bruce about interesting cases he had seen that day. They were interrupted by:

“Tommy, could you be a dear and help,” Martha asked as she swept in. Her emerald dress sparkled under the atrium chandelier and held up a pearl necklace.

Thomas helped to clasp it around her neck and told Alfred, “We’re going to Kings later this evening so you don’t need to prepare anything for dinner.”

Alfred gave a slight bow. “Very good, sir.”

Martha retrieved her fur coat from the closet and pulled out another coat and a scarf too, to Bruce’s dismay. He pouted but let her wrap it around his neck and face until he felt like a mummy. Alfred handed car keys to Thomas and said warmly,

“Have a good evening, sir.”

Thomas hooked his arm with his wife’s and smiled. “We sure will, Al.”

“Good night, Alfred,” Martha said.

“Good night, madame. Enjoy the show, master Bruce.”

Bruce nodded, sullen, and his mother gave him a look but didn’t comment on his rudeness.

 

The ride to downtown Gotham was boring and long. There was a ridiculous amount of traffic. It would be at least an hour long trip. Bruce huffed in the back seat, wishing he had brought a book, but eventually excitement ebbed in him again. It was hard to be too glum considering what awaited him. He was going to see Zorro! As the tall buildings of downtown came into view, Bruce couldn’t help but grin. His troubles from earlier that day waned as anticipation bubbled through him. Zorro didn’t care what other people thought of him. He saved the day because he was a hero and that was all that mattered.

Bruce was practically vibrating by the time he got out of the car and his father handed his keys to a valet. He wasn’t even bothered by the fact that they had to walk three blocks to get to the theater because of how abysmal Gotham’s parking was. The theater’s marquee was already lit up with _The Mask of Zorro_ and Bruce was suddenly grateful for his family’s influence. They were able to walk up the red carpet and straight in, unlike the less affluent people waiting to get inside. Although Bruce was a little disappointed that they had missed the movie’s stars walking in.

“I want popcorn,” Bruce said after they were seated and an usher came to wait on them. His father looked like he was going to object but his mother cut in with a cheery,

“Of course! Make it a large and I’d like two diet Cokes and a pack of gummy bears too.”

The usher took their order and when he left, Thomas had a pinched look on his face.

“Oh, let your hair down Tommy,” Martha teased before he could scold the two of them. Thomas crossed his arms.

“Don’t blame me when you two ruin your appetites.”

“We won’t,” she said and winked at Bruce. It was well known in their household that Bruce had a particularly voracious appetite, usually accompanied by a growth spurt. He was feeling it particularly now that he hadn’t eaten anything but several bars of chocolate and a few pastries since lunch.

The lights dimmed until the house was blanketed in darkness and a hush fell over audience. Bruce’s skin tingled and he leaned forward in his seat, holding his breath. The movie’s score erupted on the screen and Bruce felt his heart beat along with it. The movie started and all of Bruce's problems melted away.

He had completed the tub of popcorn almost entirely by himself by the halfway mark of the movie. He had eaten it mindlessly as he watched the events unfold on screen. It was incredible! Bruce had never seen anything like it. The effects and the story almost wowed Bruce enough for him to completely ignore the fact that his stomach felt like a rollercoaster. Maybe chocolate, soda and popcorn hadn't made the best combination.

“Would you like anything? Bruce?” Thomas asked and Bruce realized he didn’t answer the first time. He noticed the usher from before was standing near as he tried to breathe through his nose. His discomfort was getting steadily worse, to the point he could only concentrate on breathing properly.

“I would uh--” Bruce’s stomach rolled and he closed his mouth to stop from gagging. “I would like some water,” he managed.

The usher nodded and left while Thomas looked at Bruce with furrowed brows.

“Are you okay, son?”

“Yeah,” Bruce choked out as his stomach sloshed again. Neither of his parents looked convinced.

Martha asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Bruce answered. Or, at least, that’s what he intended to do. What he actually did was open his mouth and puke all over the floor.  Unsurprisingly, it tasted like chocolate and butter. He kept going until it felt like there was nothing left inside. Bruce coughed, his eyes watery, and a handkerchief was produced to wipe his mouth and the snot from his nose. He looked down at the mess he had made and his stomach twisted but for completely different reasons than his nausea. He had messed up. He was supposed to be acting normal and look what he had done!

Thomas felt Bruce’s forehead before picking him up and saying,

“Alright, champ, we’re taking you home.”

And Bruce promptly burst into tears. His parents looked alarmed and Thomas set him down when they were back in the lobby.

“Bruce, what’s wrong?” Martha asked.

“I ruined everything,” he sobbed. His mother pulled him closer so she could wrap her arms around him. Bruce was tall enough to lay his head on her chest and he felt her head on his.

“You didn’t ruin anything. We had fun, but we’re not going to stay out if you don’t feel well.”

Bruce shook his head and cried, “I was supposed to be normal so Mrs. Carrington would stop making fun of you.”

His parents exchanged a look.

“Were you spying on us earlier?” Thomas asked and Bruce nodded against his mother’s chest.

“I didn’t mean to,” he muttered.

Thomas sighed. “I know you probably meant well, but you shouldn’t spy on other people. And neither of us think you’re not normal, Bruce, and I’m sorry if we lead you to believe otherwise.”

Martha added, “It’s not your job to change other’s opinions of me and it was wrong of me to expect that of you, okay? You’re a wonderful son and we don’t want you any different.”

Bruce sniffed. “Even if they call me a weirdo for collecting animal bones?”

“We’re going to have a talk about that later,” Thomas said but the look he gave was soft. “But yes, even if they call you a weirdo.”

Bruce wiped his face on his sleeve and nodded. “Okay.”

He was going to have to unpack all of that later.

“We love you Bruce,” Martha said, “don’t you forget that.”

They retrieved their coats from the attendant and stepped out into the chilly Gotham air. It made Bruce feel a little better, both emotionally and physically though he still had that gross “just threw up” sick feeling. As sad as he still was, he wanted nothing more than to take a nap. His mother wrapped and arm around his shoulder.  

“We can see the show tomorrow if you’d like. You can even wear your cape”

Bruce looked up at her with wide eyes. “Really?”

She smiled. “Yes, really.”

Bruce thought about it and wondered how far this goodwill would go.

“Can I take fencing lessons to be more like Zorro too?”

His father laughed. “Nice try, but no.”

Bruce pouted. “But Bobby McCallister’s parents let him take fencing!”

“Well, we’re not Bobby McCallister’s parents,” his mother cut in smoothly. When Bruce continued to pout, Thomas added,

“How about this: when we get home and you do everything we tell you, including taking medicine, then we’ll go to Eddy’s Chocolate Shop and get milkshakes after dinner tomorrow. Deal?”

Bruce thought about it; he didn’t particularly enjoy the medicine for stomach problems. In his opinion it tasted like cherry-flavored dirt. But, overall, it was worth a milkshake.

“Deal.”

“But no more popcorn,” Thomas said with a wink and Bruce grimaced. He still had the vomit aftertaste in his mouth.

The family crossed the street only instead of going around, Thomas started to lead them into an alley.

“Tommy, where are we going?” Martha asked.

“It’s a shortcut. We’ll get to the lot faster.”

Martha rolled her eyes and muttered, “You and your shortcuts.”

They advanced through the dark corridor and Bruce held onto his mother’s hand. It wasn’t that he was scared or anything, he wasn’t a baby, but it was different than the cozy passageways under Wayne manor. The most dangerous thing he could encounter there was a bat but Gotham at night was different. The shadows could hide any number of threats and play tricks on you. Bruce squeezed his mother’s hand tighter.

They had been walking for a few minutes when a man appeared from around a corner. He had a stumbling gait and manic eyes as he took in the Wayne family. He was visibly sweating, despite the cold, and he fumbled around in his coat pocket before pulling out a gun and pointing it with shaking hands.

“G-give me your pearls!” He demanded. Bruce felt like he was going to be sick again, but with fear this time, and his father stepped forward with an outstretched hand. Bruce would never be able to figure out how he did it.

“Son, think about what you’re doing. If you put the gun away, we can get you some help, without the police.”

The man hesitated and Thomas Wayne took a step forward. It was a mistake. Several things happened at once but they would forever be slow motion in Bruce’s mind. The gun went off and Thomas staggered backwards with a hand on his gut. When he pulled his hand away it was a vivid red. Martha screamed and turned heal to run but the mugger lunged at her and grabbed her necklace which pulled and broke. All of the pearls crashed to the ground, bouncing with little clacks like marbles. Martha managed one or two strides away, pulling Bruce along with her, when the gun went off again and she fell to the ground with a wet slap.

(She was shot in the head and died instantly, Bruce would learn later.)

The mugger pointed the gun at Bruce next and Bruce was frozen where he stood. He knew he should run or scream for help or _something_ but his legs were anchored to their spot. All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and hope that death came quickly.

Bruce was startled when he felt a warm mass wrap around him before the gun went off again. The mass was his father and Thomas jerked as the bullet hit. There was an empty gap of time where the mugger ran away but Bruce didn’t notice because his father was staring at him with glassy blue eyes. His face was unnaturally pale.

“Bruce,” Thomas began and Bruce started crying. He knew what his father was about to say and he didn’t want to hear it, the acknowledgement that what had just happened was real.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. His voice was weak and pained. Bruce tried to speak around his sobs.

“Father--”

“I love you Bruce, I need you to know that.”

Bruce bit his lip and nodded.

“Things are gonna be okay, alright? I’m going to stay with you as long as I can.”

He lay down and directed Bruce to him so Bruce’s head lay on his chest. Thomas cupped Bruce’s head with his large hand and Bruce cried harder than he ever remembered crying. He cried so hard it hurt. He didn’t know when the rise and fall of his father’s chest stopped but he clung to his body and any remaining warmth. It was easy to forget the wind howling around them and the solitude when he was so focused on hoping their closeness would stop his father from dying. This was all he had and he couldn’t bear to lose it.  

Bruce didn’t let go, even when he heard sirens approaching. Eventually, a pair of hands pulled him off and he started screaming.

“Father!” Bruce cried. He fought the hands as hard as he could but it wasn’t enough. In his struggle, Bruce noticed all of the adults that had arrived in that lost time he spent being held by his dying father. There were police officers cordoning off the area where his parents lay with police tape and someone taking pictures of them. Bruce felt sick with dread and tried to go back--he wasn't going to abandon them, he _wasn’t_ \--but he was pulled away again.

“I’m just trying to check you out son, can you hear me?”

“I’m fine!” Bruce insisted, but another paramedic came to his side before he could struggle more. They were putting black tarps over his family’s bodies.

“Are you hurt anywhere? Do you have any cuts or bruises?” Asked the second paramedic, a woman this time.

Everything hurt. His head hurt, his stomach hurt and his limbs felt like rocks. Most significantly, his chest hurt. It felt like someone had punched the air out of him, like the whole of him was a helium balloon.

Bruce shook his head. Someone put a blanket around him and a police officer led him towards a patrol car. It would be difficult, nearly impossible, to get to his parents now so he let himself be corralled. When the doors shut, Bruce struggled to stop more tears from flowing down his cheeks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was this whole part I had written after this that detailed Bruce talking with Gordon and the funeral and everything but it felt unnecessary. *shrug* Editing is a cruel mistress.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has a very bad day at school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if the rest of the chapters will get uploaded this quickly but I'll try my best. This is a bit short and not to my satisfaction but I hope y'all enjoy.

_Bruce - age 12_

 

_Gunshot. Bright red. Bounce like marbles. Clack. Clack. Clack. Gunshot. Wet. Red stained teeth. Tears._

_Gunshot Bright red Bounce like marbles Clack. Clack. Clack. Gunshot Wet Red stained teeth. Tears._

_Gunshot bright red bounce like marbles clack clack clack gunshot wet red stained teeth tears_

_Gunshotbrightredbouncelikemarblesclackclackclackgunshotwetredstainedteethtears_

_Gunshot._

_Gunshot._

_Clack. Clack._

**_Clack._ **

Bruce woke up screaming. It took him a moment to stop screaming and when he did, his heart was pounding and sweat had gathered at his temples. His head felt like it had been submerged in ice water. His whole body trembled as his heart tried to stop racing. When Bruce’s panic subsided, he became increasingly aware of how his lower half was warm and wet. Shame began to worm through him, masking everything else he felt. He had wet the bed. It didn’t happen often, no more than once or twice a year after a particularly hellish nightmare, but it was enough to make him feel queasy with humiliation. He was nearly a teenager and there he was, wetting himself like a child.

With a shaking breath, Bruce pulled himself out of bed and peeled off his wet pajamas. The red numbers on his alarm clock said it was 4:45, nearly two hours before he normally got up. He pushed the heels of his palms against his eyes as a wave of frustration came over him. It wasn’t as if he had gotten a good night’s rest. Now he had to deal with this mess. He sure as hell wasn’t going to wake up Alfred over this; it was embarrassing.

First, Bruce wiped himself down and changed into a fresh pair of pajamas in the bathroom. He wrinkled his nose at the strong stench of urine in his room and pulled off his wet sheets from his bed. He deposited them and his wet pajamas into his laundry basket but there was a wet spot still left on his mattress. Suddenly, he realized he had no idea how to clean all of this and frustrated tears welled up in his eyes.

Bruce tried to wipe his tears away, but the dam broke as all the adrenaline from the nightmare wore off and exhaustion crept up on him. Everything felt hopeless and he slid to the ground, trying to stop his hiccupping sobs. When Bruce calmed down, he drifted in and out of a light sleep until the sound of his door opening startled him awake.

“Master Bruce? Why are you on the floor?”

It took Bruce a moment to recall what had happened that night--it all felt like an awful cloudy dream. He blushed but remained silent as Alfred approached and spotted the stain on the bare mattress.

“Oh dear,” Alfred muttered but took on a solid resolve and said, “Well, there’s nothing to do about that now. Breakfast is waiting for you when you are ready.”

Bruce nodded to show that he had heard, and Alfred left. Bruce rubbed his face and got up. It felt like he was moving in honey. It was the side-effect of getting little sleep, having a nightmare, and crying. Everything felt gross, but distant, and it was unfortunately something that Bruce had experience with.

He took a shower and brushed his teeth while his head struggled to keep up with his body. Alfred looked concerned when he plopped down the stairs but didn’t say anything. He served breakfast with his usual calm briskness. Bruce ate in silence while Alfred drank his tea.

At 7:30, Bruce climbed in the car with his bookbag and watched the scenery go by as he was driven to school. The trees had started to change colors and, while Gotham was beautiful in the fall, it didn’t interest Bruce at all. His mind was still swimming, unable to breach the surface. It felt like he blinked and one second, he was at the manor and the other, he was at school. They waited in the line of cars as students of Gotham Academy bid farewell to their drivers and got out.

“Have a good day, Master Bruce,” Alfred said once they were at the school drop-off zone. “I hope you feel better.”

Bruce nodded, only half-aware that Alfred had even said anything.

“Goodbye, Alfred,” Bruce replied automatically. Alfred pulled away and Bruce walked into the school as if in a dream. It was a particularly hellish one where he felt like he was drowning in oil. Bruce managed to sit through two classes, but he nodded off during the third one.

It was a short, blank sleep until a ruler smacked on his desk, causing him to shoot up in his chair. He groggily became aware of his classmates’ giggles and his teacher, Mrs. Cassidy, standing over him.

“Mr. Wayne,” she began in that nasally way of hers, “since you seem to know enough to sleep through this class, perhaps you could answer the problem on the board.”

Bruce stared, fixated on the lipstick smudged on her teeth before he realized what she was telling him to do. He sighed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bruce got up to the chalkboard, keenly aware of all the eyes on him. It made him feel itchy. The problem itself was a walk in the park. He took a moment to mentally check his answer before writing “73” on the board.

Mrs. Cassidy’s mouth fell open in surprise. She snapped her mouth shut and stared at him with a pinched expression.

“Very good. You may go back to your seat.”

Bruce gladly did so with little flair. He could tell that she was seething. Adults didn’t like it when you showed them up, especially when she was trying to punish him by humiliating him. It was a mistake on her part, Bruce thought. He was primarily known for his intelligence, having skipped the fifth grade.

The rest of the class went by without incident, aside from occasional glares from his teacher. When the bell chimed, Bruce went to put away his stuff and Mrs. Cassidy called him to her desk. He expected some form of punishment, but all Mrs. Cassidy did was say,

“Don’t sleep in my class again, Bruce.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bruce muttered. It was a threat if there ever was one. He gathered up his things when she dismissed him, and he went to lunch.

He sat alone. He was used to it.

The highlight of the lunch period was discovering a stack of cookies with a note that read,

 

_I hope today is looking up for you, Master Bruce._

_-A_

 

The warmth and reassurance that brought him lasted until the end of the day, during gym class. Bruce had mixed feelings about gym. On one hand, he was naturally athletic and loved to compete against his classmates in something that wasn’t academic. On the other hand, a lot of it felt like a waste of time. He didn’t care about playing basketball when he could be practicing piano, or fencing, or literally anything else.

The whole class was outside on this cool, autumn day. The air was chilly enough that the wind produced goosebumps. Leaves had yet to fall but stood in brilliant gold and red hues. This was about as nice as Gotham would look until late spring, when the city finally thawed out from under a few feet of snow.

This was one of those “waste of time” classes. They were spread out in various activities with no goals other than to keep themselves busy. Bruce chose to spend the period by himself, bouncing a tennis ball against a wall with a racket. He was mostly focused on his little game until he felt eyes on him and heard an unfamiliar girl’s voice say,

“Who’s that kid over there?”

“Him?” A different voice answered, a boy this time. “That’s Bruce Wayne.”

The unfamiliar girl spoke again. “What’s his deal? He’s in my art class but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him talk to anyone.”

A newer voice broke in. “Yeah, he’s always been weird, but he’s been kind of messed up since his parents died.”

“His parents died?” The girl sounded genuinely alarmed, which was curious. “That’s awful!”

“Yeah, they were gunned down right in front of him. Honestly, that would screw up just about anyone,” The first boy said.

“Did they find who did it?”

“No, but my dad thinks it was a hit,” said the second boy. Bruce paused in his game but the group either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Why?”

“He said that the Kanes could have only gotten their money from stealing it and Dr. Wayne married one of them. Everyone said it was a mistake and that shady past probably just caught up to them,” The boy said, as though proud of this information. “My dad said he’d probably still be alive if it wasn’t for her.”

Bruce didn’t know what came over him. He felt a chill of cold rage rush down his spine. The next thing he knew, he was on top of Charley Bartlett with his hands around Charley’s throat.

“Take it back!” He screamed. “Take it back!”

Charley coughed and sputtered as he clawed at Bruce’s fingers, but it only made Bruce squeeze harder. The tidal wave of rage still roared. Bruce struggled when strong hands dragged him away. He recognized vaguely that it was their gym teacher, Coach Whelan. Two boys were holding Charley back, whose face was now bright red.

“You touch me again, you’re fucking dead Wayne!” Charley rasped. “You hear me!?”

“That’s enough Bartlett!” Coach Whelan barked. “You two,” he directed this at the other two boys, “Casey, you take Wayne to the principal’s office. Velasquez, take Bartlett to the nurse.”

Trevor Casey sneered at Bruce but let go of Charley’s arm. He stomped away, and Bruce followed. Most of the fight had drained out of him by this point. Now he felt angry and exhausted. The noise in his head was deafening and he didn’t notice that Trevor had stopped until he bumped right into him. Trevor scowled, and Bruce noticed that they were standing near a stairwell, where no teachers could see them. He wondered if he was about to get beaten up. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Listen,” Trevor said as he loomed over Bruce. Most of Bruce’s classmates were taller than him--a side effect of being twelve in the eighth grade--but Trevor was especially large. His weight sat in his middle and his face always looked like it had sunburn.

“I don’t normally care about Charley, but that was super fucked up what you did. You better watch yourself Wayne or you won’t have just Charley to deal with,” Trevor threatened.

Bruce nodded. It wasn’t an idle threat and Bruce had imagined, once he stopped being so angry he felt sick, that there would be some sort of retaliation from the other boys. Charley wasn’t necessarily popular, but his family was influential and political. Nobody wanted to cross the son of a senator. Bruce shouldn’t have but hearing his mother’s name disparaged again, after all these years, did something to him. That something was not nice.

Apparently satisfied that his warning had gotten across, Trevor continued to lead Bruce to the main office and left him there. Bruce was told to wait once he entered and wait he did. He stared at his lap for several minutes until the main office door opened and Charley came in with an ice pack in hand. Finger-shaped bruises were already starting to form, and it gave Bruce a wicked sense of satisfaction. Charley glared at Bruce as he entered the principal’s office. Bruce stared back, impassive.

It was several more minutes before Charley exited and Bruce could come in. He wished he could say that the principal’s office was unfamiliar to him, but it wasn’t. Bruce wasn’t well-liked and refused to adhere to the school’s social structure and was an easy target for harassment and assault. This was one of the rare few times Bruce had gotten into an altercation because he had started it. He suspected he had yet to face any real punishment because Wayne money had financed a lot of the school’s renovations.

The school’s principal, Mr. Nelson, struck an unimposing figure. He had the bunched-up shoulders of a man used to bowing to the whim of everyone more powerful of him. He was balding and wore tiny glasses that made him look like a skinny Benjamin Franklin.

“Mr. Wayne,” he began, “you always seem to find yourself here time and time again. Care to explain your side of the story?”

Bruce shrugged and stared at a figurine of Atlas on Mr. Nelson’s desk. It wasn’t like he had a great excuse to begin with. ‘He insulted my mom, so I choked him’ wouldn’t sound sane to anyone outside of his head.

“Mr. Bartlett says that you attacked him for no reason, is that true?”

When Bruce didn’t answer again, Mr. Nelson sighed.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m trying to help you, but I can’t do that unless you help me. You’re in more trouble than you realize. I’ve contacted your guardian and he and I will discuss disciplinary actions when he gets here.”

That made Bruce look up. He didn’t think Alfred would have to get involved; typically, Bruce would come home angry or with bruises but no official reprimand. He wasn’t sure how Alfred would take it. Maybe Wayne money wouldn’t be enough to soothe this over.

Bruce was sent back to the waiting room and was left gnawing on his thoughts. He was mostly worried about Alfred being disappointed in him. The thought curdled in his stomach and left a bad taste in his mouth. He sat there pondering until a secretary told him to go get his stuff.

Bruce trudged back to the locker room, thankful that school was over, and his class was no longer there. There were some student athletes gathering, but they mostly ignored him, and he changed his clothes in silence. He would get his lumps eventually but not right then. He took his backpack and went back to the office where he was made to wait again.

Why couldn’t his punishment come swiftly? All this waiting made him nervous.

Bruce was simultaneously relieved and apprehensive to see Alfred approaching. He looked unflappable as always but that meant he was harder to read. Bruce couldn’t tell if Alfred was disappointed or angry or not.

“Master Bruce, are you alright?” Alfred asked and glanced over Bruce, looking for obvious signs of injury. Was Bruce alright? He honestly couldn’t tell. His state of mind ranged from alight with anger over what had been said to floating with apathy. Physically, he felt exhausted.

“What happened?” Alfred asked instead, perhaps sensing Bruce’s mood.

“Charley Bartlett said it was Mother’s fault that she and Father are dead,” Bruce said quietly.

Alfred’s expression softened. “Oh, Master Bruce…”

“I just blacked out, I was so angry. I didn’t plan to try and choke him, I just wanted to make him pay.”

Alfred put a hand on his shoulder, sighed and said, “Well, we’ll face whatever happens together.”

When Alfred was called into Mr. Nelson’s office without Bruce, the sunken feeling in Bruce’s chest only got deeper. He waited for what felt like an hour before Alfred came back out, looking grim. Bruce was by his side in a second.

“What is it?” Bruce asked. “Is it detention? Are they gonna suspend me?”

Alfred sat down, and Bruce felt like his worst fears had been confirmed.

“My boy…” Alfred began, looking more lost than Bruce had seen him in a long time. “I’m afraid they’re going to expel you.”

“What!?” Bruce exclaimed, not believing what he had heard.

“It appears the Bartletts have threatened to sue if you’re not removed from the school at once.”

“But that’s not fair!”

“I’m sorry.”

Bruce took one look at Alfred’s resigned state and the anger from before ignited again. He scowled.

“And you’re just going to let this happen?”

“Master Bruce--”

“We have more money than them! We must be able to do something!”

“Believe it or not, Master Bruce, not everything is a manner of money. The Bartletts are a powerful family and they have multiple ins with the school board.”

“Bullshit!” Bruce snapped. “You didn’t even try, did you?”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Do not take that tone with me, young sir. You know bloody well I did everything I could. I’m going to appeal the expulsion, but I don’t know if it will change anything.”

“Whatever,” Bruce muttered and picked up his bag and left. He knew he was treading perilous waters, but his chest hurt, and he felt dizzy with anger.

Bruce and Alfred sat in stony silence on the car ride home. Bruce stomped into the mansion, planning to go to his room to sulk but Alfred stopped him with a quiet,

“Sir, I know you must feel that nobody is in your corner right now, but I promise you that I always will be.”

Bruce wanted to believe it, he really did, but all this day did was remind him of how the whole world seemed to have it out for him. It was all him by his self. Bruce nodded but said nothing as he climbed the stairs to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in Batman TAS, they mention Bruce going to Gotham High not Academy, which I found odd so I wanted to work out a way for him to be there. Bruce seems to always have been a loner and the only friend he seems to have had when he was young was Tommy Eliot, but I didn't want to include that can of worms so. Here it is.  
> Getting kicked out for assault (attempted murder?)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's prom night. What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took me so long to get up. Executive dysfunction kicked my ass hard. I can't guarantee any future chapters will update sooner, but I'll try. Did y'all know corsages can cost upwards of $40??? Unbelievable. 
> 
> Tw for underage drinking, underage smoking, and references to self-harm

_ Bruce - age 16 _

“Smile!”

Bruce forced a grin as the camera went off. Mrs. Vale shook the polaroid with a giddy expression and handed the picture to Bruce once it had formed.

“You boys look so handsome!” She cooed.

“Thanks ma’am,” Harvey replied with one of his winning smiles. Bruce looked at the picture and had to agree with that assessment, at least, with regards to his friend. Bruce looked average. He had been wearing tuxes since he was old enough to walk and was used to the image of him in one, but Harvey shined in formal wear. The suit wasn’t fitted so it was a little long but otherwise the white fabric contrasted brilliantly with his dark skin. If Bruce wore white, he would look like a ghost. Even without the clothing as a factor, Harvey held a confidence in his shoulders that Bruce could only hope to imitate.

“Are you two excited?” Mrs. Vale asked. “It isn't every day you get to go to prom.”

Harvey smiled and put his arm around Bruce's shoulder. “I'm excited. Although Richie Rich here is probably used to this kind of thing.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and shrugged Harvey's arm off. “Rich people parties? Yes. Dances? No.”

“Well,” Harvey began, “prepare yourself for an evening of sweaty teenagers and loud music.”

“You’re really not selling me on this, Harv.”

“Don’t worry,” Harvey said with a wink, making Bruce’s heart flutter, “It’ll still be great.”

“It better be,” Vicki said as she arrived at the top of the foyer staircase. She wore a pale green gown with spaghetti straps that blossomed out into a shower of tulle. Her red hair was done up and piled into elaborate curls on her head while her bangs floated in waves around her face. Vicki looked stunning. Bruce’s mouth went dry staring at her as she descended the stairs.

“I’d have done all of this makeup for nothing,” she continued.

“Ohh!” Mrs. Vale cooed. “Look at you! Come here and let me get a picture!”

“Mom we’re going to be late,” Vicki groaned but posed at the bottom of the steps obligingly.

“Okay, now one with the boys,” Mrs. Vale said once she was done. Vicki rolled her eyes and stood in between Bruce and Harvey, looping their arms with hers. In her heels, she came up to about Bruce’s shoulder and, this close, he could smell her perfume.

Bruce fake smiled for the camera again and smiled for real when Vicki said,

“Some girls can’t even get one date to prom; I’ve got two.”

He knew she was joking. They were all going as friends, but the prospect of her thinking of him as a date excited him.

“What are we, your harem?” Harvey asked with an upturned eyebrow.

“Yep!” Vicki chirped.

Bruce rolled his eyes good-naturedly and said, “Alright your highness, we got you something.”

Harvey picked up a plastic case with a corsage in it off the entrance table and handed it to her. It was a light green flower surrounded by little white buds. Vicki took it with an awed look and put it on her wrist.

“Me and Bruce split the cost,” Harvey explained. Bruce could have easily bought it himself and claimed that both they both had bought it, but he was weirdly adamant about paying his own half, even for their limousine. “Aww you guys!” Vicki cried and hugged them both.

“You are the best harem a girl could ask for!”

They all laughed, and Mrs. Vale fussed over them more as they made their way out of the door.

“Don’t stay out past twelve,” she said.

“Yes mom.”

“And don’t leave a drink unattended.”

“Yes mom.”

“You two boys watch out for her.”

“Mom!”

Harvey gave a sloppy salute. “Will do ma’am.”

Mrs. Vale held her daughter at arm’s length before kissing her forehead. “Have fun Vicki.”

“Thanks mom,” Vicki replied, with just the barest hint of genuine gratitude. They all said their goodbyes and stepped out of the brownstone. There was a white stretch limo waiting for them next to the curb, despite there being only three of them. They climbed in and each claimed a different seat as their own. It was ostentatious at best, but Bruce figured it fit prom tradition, or at least what he knew of prom from movies.

“Now this is luxury,” Harvey said, leaning back on his seat. “Is this what life’s always like for you Bruce?”

Bruce shook his head and said, “I don’t ever ride in these.” He had no reason to when it was only ever him in the backseat.

“Also,” Bruce added, “You guys ride with me and Alfred all the time.”

“Yeah, but you can’t lay down.” Vicki said with a shrug and pulled up her feet onto the seat so she could lounge.

“You think we should get something to eat before we get there?” Harvey asked, changing the subject. “We’ll probably be there forever. Maybe we should have asked your mom for something.”

Vicki scoffed. “Please, the only thing she knows how to make is a martini. We could go pick up some food if you want.” She looked at Bruce, who shrugged.

“Sure.” He was always down to eat.

They ended up choosing something quick and easy for food. After determining that, no, they could not take the limousine through the drive-thru, the trio crawled back inside with a delicious smelling bag filled with greasy food. It felt rebellious to Bruce in a way. Alfred never let him eat fast food.

Bruce bit into his burger with a relish and asked, “What do you think prom’s going to be like?”  when he finished chewing.

“I don’t know,” Vicki said between munching on a fry. “I doubt it’ll be like, the best night of our lives or whatever, but I mean it’s senior prom. We fucking made it, guys.”

“Maybe one of us will get lucky,” Harvey suggested with a look at Bruce that made Bruce’s ears heat up. It was known among them that he was the only one with his virginity still intact. It normally didn’t bother him, but it was just another reminder that he wasn’t as “mature” as his classmates having skipped both the fifth and the ninth grades. Part of him was proud to be about to graduate at sixteen, part of him was annoyed to have only just gotten his driver’s license.

Harvey took out a silver dollar, his so called “lucky coin” from his pocket and kissed it. “She’s never steered me wrong before.”

“If only I could be so lucky,” Bruce deadpanned, despite the blush on his cheeks.

“I just hope the music is good.” Vicki said, sidestepping the topic and the rest of them agreed.

They finished their food and arrived at the school shortly after. The parking lot was full and had its fair share of limousines. A few students were standing outside in their gowns and tuxes. Vicki nudged Bruce when Harvey waved to a few people as they walked into the building.

“Bet you he ditches us for his cool friends in less than ten minutes.”

“Hey!” Harvey exclaimed. “I’m more loyal than that.”

“We’ll see, Harv,” Bruce teased.

Gotham High’s gym was loud in every sense of the word. The theme was “paradise” and there were fake palm trees, parrots, and bright streamers everywhere. Lights danced and flashed in multiple colors and Bruce felt the music thumping in his bones.

They found a table near the back and chatted as well as they could over the music with some other acquaintances. Harvey left to get them some punch but when he didn’t show up five minutes later, Bruce spotted him on the other side of the gym, talking to his basketball teammates, punch evidently forgotten.

“Hey, look,” Bruce nudged Vicki and nodded in Harvey’s direction and Vicki laughed.

“I guess he’s just too popular for us peons.”

Her statement was mostly the truth. Even though they all participated in school activities (Bruce and Vicki met through tennis club, Bruce and Harvey in chess club, but Harvey also played basketball), Harvey was the true social butterfly of the group. It was a small exaggeration to call him popular, but he was well-liked by most people. The only thing that prevented him from climbing the social ladder was his lack of wealth, which was just as much as a status marker here as it had been at Gotham Academy.

“He’s a terrible concubine though,” Bruce added. Vicki laughed some more and looked out onto the dance floor. “Breakfast at Tiffany's” was playing and she turned to Bruce with bright eyes and a smile that made his heart tumble.

“You wanna dance?”

Bruce hesitated. He admitted, “I’ve never danced to this type of music before.”

“It’s not hard,” she said. “Just bounce around to the beat. It’s not like it’s the foxtrot or anything.”

It was hard for him to say no to her, so he acquiesced, “Alright.”

She beamed at him and it was worth it. She led him to the dance floor and Bruce added,

“I actually can foxtrot, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up Bruce. Just dance.”

While they danced, Bruce did a simple bob of his head and shoulders while he mostly watched Vicki. She got into the song and threw her hands up and twisted while she shook her mane of copper curls. Bruce was having fun just watching her have fun and he figured the moment was over when a slow song came on, but she grabbed his hand and put it on her waist.

“Come on,” she said, sensing his hesitation. He put his other hand on her waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck. They swayed to the music and Bruce felt like he was about to have a heart attack and, simultaneously, that this was the happiest moment of his life.

Bruce could feel Vicki’s body heat. His heart thudded in his ears and he fought to stop himself from looking directly down into her cleavage, which was nearly pressed against him. He became lost in their hypnotic sway, so much so that he couldn’t tell when one song ended, and another began. Bruce was startled when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

“Hey, leave some room for Jesus,” Harvey said with an odd, tight smile. To Vicki he asked,

“May I cut in?”

Vicki looked just as confused as Bruce felt but said, “Uh, sure. Bruce can you watch my purse?” and just like that, Harvey took his place. Bruce took the outstretched purse with annoyance, but he got the feeling that saying something would only cause more problems, so he skulked away to the punch bowl. Bruce got himself a cup and went back to their table. He watched Harvey and Vicki dance with more than a little jealousy. He knew that they had dated, briefly, before they knew Bruce. He also felt that if Harvey wanted to date her, he could. Harvey tended to get what he wanted, and Bruce had a sinking feeling that tonight was just a preview of that.

Gloomily, Bruce sipped his punch and noted with little surprise that it had been spiked. From some sort of tequila, from what he could tell. Bruce drank his punch slowly and, through a dull buzz, considered getting more when Vicki stormed up sans Harvey. They couldn’t have danced for more than two songs, but she did not look happy.

“I’m going to go smoke, do you wanna come?” She asked as she picked up her purse.

Bruce shrugged. “Sure.”

He followed her to the back of the gym and then outside, where a few people milled about. Some of them were smoking, a lot of them were kissing. Bruce did his best to ignore them.

Vicki took out a cigarette, lit it, and smoked it with little fanfare. When she seemed to relax after the flow of nicotine reached her system, Bruce felt it was safe enough to ask,

“What happened?”

Vicki scowled. “Harvey was being an asshole! He was being weird and gross and said--” She cut herself off with a sigh and took another drag of her cigarette.

“It doesn’t matter what he said. We’re not dating anymore, and I can dance with whoever the fuck I want.”

Bruce wasn’t sure what to say to that. Harvey was acting bizarre in a way he had never seen before. He watched Vicki take a few more drags before she looked up at him with a sad smile.

“I’m sorry. All I’m doing is complaining, how has your prom gone so far?”

“It’s been okay,” Bruce said with a shrug. “I was dancing with this amazing girl until I was interrupted.”

Vicki smiled again, brighter, and knocked her shoulder against his.

“Thanks. You want a drag?”

“Sure,” Bruce said. He hadn’t drunk enough that smoking would make him sick, even if he knew Alfred wouldn’t approve. (And his decision had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Vicki’s lipstick was smeared on the end of the cigarette.)

He took a drag and let the hot smoke fill his lungs and was vaguely proud that he didn’t cough this time. He gave it back to her after a few puffs and she dropped it and ground it beneath her heel.

“Thanks,” she said. “Again, for putting up with me.”

Bruce didn’t know how to express to Vicki that he was never just “putting up with” her so he just nodded. They went back inside and found Harvey at the punch bowl. Something soured in Bruce’s stomach, but he didn’t know what. Harvey grinned as he saw them approaching, apparently oblivious of Vicki’s ire.

“Hey guys,” Harvey greeted. “Sorry I forgot about the punch earlier. Here you go.”

He held out a cup to Vicki, who shook her head.

“No, I don’t want any, Harv. I want to talk about what you said earlier.”

His smile got tight like before and he urged, “Come on, Vicki, drink some.”

She frowned. “I said I don’t want any Harv, stop trying to change the subject.”

Harvey’s expression grew stormy and the uneasy feeling in Bruce’s stomach grew.

“I said drink some,” Harvey said, and he grabbed Vicki’s wrist, yanking her forward and causing her to stumble in her heels. He then added in a low voice that hardly sounded like his own,

“You never do what we tell you to do, why are you so stubborn?”

Vicki tried to pull back and pry his hand away to no avail.

“Let go of me! Harv!”

Bruce stepped in and pushed Harvey back with enough force that, surprised, he dropped Vicki’s wrist. Bruce stood squarely between them.

“She said ‘no’ Harvey, cut it out!”

Bruce didn’t think it was possible for the other to look angrier, but his face transformed into something ugly, something Bruce had never seen before.

“This doesn’t concern you Bruce,” Harvey hissed. “Get out of my way.”

“No,” Bruce said. He planted his feet and crossed his arms. “I’m not going to let you touch her.”

Before he could register it, a fist came crashing into Bruce’s jaw, causing him to stagger back in pain and shock.

“Harvey,” Bruce warned, clutching his face, because despite all of this, Bruce didn’t want to fight his best friend.

Harvey swung again but missed and Bruce took advantage of the opening by tackling Harvey to the ground. He pinned the other’s arms down and straddled him while Harvey fought like Bruce’s touch was burning him.

“Harvey! Stop!”

The older boy growled and surged up to bite Bruce’s arm. He clenched down hard, and Bruce screamed. He pushed Harvey’s face away to dislodge him and when that didn’t work, he punched Harvey in the back of the head a few times until it did. Harvey rolled them back over and they grappled against each other, trading blows until someone pulled Harvey off.

It was one of Harvey’s teammates and Bruce belatedly noticed that they had attracted a large circle of spectators.

“Harvey, cut it out man!” The teammate said while another teammate got in between Bruce and Harvey’s line of sight. They said something to him while Vicki helped Bruce to his feet. When the other guy finally moved, Harvey stood there, with his brows furrowed, like he was confused.

“Fuck!” He hissed and pushed his palms into his eyes. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to--I mean I didn’t--shit. I’m so sorry guys.”

Bruce stared, unsure what to say and with each passing second, Harvey seemed to grow more and more aware of their spectators.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, and staggered backwards like he was drunk. He took another look at everyone around him before he turned and hurried through the crowd. His other friends followed, and Vicki shooed away any remaining spectators. Now that the bizarre interaction was over—Bruce couldn’t begin to figure out what went wrong and why--Bruce was able to take note of his injuries. He pressed down on his bite wound, which was undoubtedly bleeding, through his suit with a hiss. He hoped to god he was up to date on his tetanus shots.

“Are you okay, Bruce?” Vicki asked, but even as she did, her body was angled away from him and towards the other side of the gym where Harvey had gone, as though she was only asking out of politeness. Suddenly, Bruce felt very tired.

“I’m fine,” he said. She nodded and looked back towards Harvey and Bruce, at the end of his wits, asked,

“You’re always going to choose him over me, aren’t you?”

Vicki’s face scrunched up, wounded. “Bruce you know that’s not fair. Harv and I, we’ve got history.”

Bruce felt his chest throb but tried not to let it show. That was a clear answer to his question.

“I know.”

Vicki seemed to sense it regardless and cupped his face where it wasn’t bruised.

“Bruce…I’m sorry,” she said and sounded genuinely upset. “I know how much you care about me, but I don’t think I’ll ever love you the way you want me to.”

Bruce nodded even though his throat felt hot and tight. She frowned and leaned up to kiss his cheek, which really didn’t make him feel better.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, softer.

Somehow, Bruce managed to find his voice and it wasn’t even shaky when he said, “You go on and check on Harvey. I’ll be fine.”

Vicki hesitated. “Are you sure?”

Bruce nodded. “Yeah, I just need some change, so I can call Alfred.”

Vicki looked pained. “You don’t have to leave, Bruce.”

“No, it’s better this way.” He knew that whatever was happening was changing their friendship irrevocably and he wasn’t certain that if he stayed around it would get any better. Vicki didn’t look assuaged but said,

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Vicki reached up and hugged Bruce before she gave him a few quarters and he went outside to use the payphone in front of the school. As he waited for Alfred, his mind grew stormy. He felt cheated somehow, like some great force had scooped out his insides and left him with nothing in return. He was hollow and more exhausted than he thought possible. When Alfred arrived, he came to Bruce’s side in a flurry of concern.

“My goodness Master Bruce, what happened?” He asked.

“Nothing good,” Bruce muttered and navigated around the other man to get in the car. Alfred didn’t push it, not right then, for which Bruce was grateful. When they got back to the manor, Bruce immediately went to his bedroom, ready to plant face-down on his bed and never get up again. It was then that Alfred came in with an ice pack and a first aid kit. Bruce groaned and sat up obligingly.

“Haven’t done this in a while,” Alfred remarked as he sat down on the bed and handed Bruce an ice pack. “I’m glad that whoever did this to you avoided your eyes. Do you have any open wounds?”

Bruce wasn’t sure how to explain what had happened between him and Harvey because Bruce wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, and he definitely didn’t want Alfred to see his bitemarks. That would open a line of questioning that Bruce was in no way prepared for.

“I can handle it, Alfred. You go on to bed.”

Alfred’s expression didn’t change, but Bruce could tell that he wasn’t happy.

“I insist, let me see Master Bruce,” he said. It wasn’t a request.

Bruce sighed and shrugged off his tuxedo jacket. There was a blood stain on the inside of his arm below the elbow. Bruce hesitated before he rolled up his sleeve and revealed lines of crisscrossing raised scars, some of them faded, some pink. Nestled among them was the bite mark.

Alfred’s sharp intake of breath told Bruce everything he needed to know.

“Master Bruce--”

Bruce pulled his arms away and begged, “Not now, Alfred. Please.”

There was a pause where Alfred looked him in the eye before nodding.

“Alright, Master Bruce. I need to clean this wound. This may sting a little.”

Bruce was grateful for the distraction. The discussion was tabled, at least for the meantime. The future felt like it was nothing but a dark mass and Bruce was in no hurry to meet it. He knew, after tonight, that nothing would be the same.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything seems so big and permanent in high school.
> 
> So my writing of Harvey here is a bit of a mix between Batman TAS and Telltale Batman, where two face already sort of existed and was a long going struggle with Harvey.
> 
> At my own high school prom the punch was in gatorade coolers so nobody could spike it. My school was classy like that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As college ends, a new chapter of Bruce's life begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get started, I want to announce a giveaway. First person in the comments to figure out Bruce's birth year (yes, there is an actual timeline even though it bears no impact on the plot) based on small clues I've hidden (throughout the whole fic, not just this chapter) will get a fic from me of whatever you'd like. The fic will be about 2k in length and the only fandoms I'll write for are the ones I've already written here. 
> 
> I call this chapter The Birth of Brucie. This is really the chapter I had in mind when tagging depression and suicidal thoughts. Also tw for more underage drinking and recreational drug use.

Bruce - Age 20

 

Even before the fiasco at prom, Bruce had chosen to go to Yale, and he was especially glad about this decision after prom. He needed to get out of Gotham and he needed to get away far. He used to believe in it, a long time ago, but the city had done nothing but burn him in return. He needed to shed Gotham like a bad habit. In the end, Bruce left Alfred behind too. He was never going to get the full college experience if he couldn’t be on his own, even if he was only sixteen during his first half of freshman year. 

For the first few weeks of college, everything was great. He was confident in his major choice (forensic science), his classes were challenging but not too difficult, and he was able to relish in anonymity for the first time in his life. People could tell that he was wealthy, but that wasn’t unusual on an Ivy League campus and some might have even heard the name Wayne before, but he was no longer just the kid with the dead parents (or the new kid who choked out a kid at his old school). Nobody even knew how old he was unless he told him.

For the first time in his life, Bruce felt like he could be more than just that kid crying in an alleyway. It was as freeing as it was terrifying.

Around October, Bruce stumbled. There was nothing to pull him out of his slump, something that he had experienced even before the death of his parents. He didn’t have his friends, he didn't have Alfred. He didn’t even have a roommate. It was by some miracle he managed to be invited to a party some chilly evening. Beer was passed out in abundance and it tasted like shit, but it did the job of making Bruce forget about everything he wanted. 

In time, it became routine.

(It was at a Halloween party that Bruce learned that sex was a good distraction too. He lost his virginity to a girl in his Chem 101 lab. Far too quickly, he pulled out of her, sweaty and panting.

“Did you come?” Bruce had asked. She looked surprised that he was even asking and said no. He put his hand down her center and said,

“Show me how to help.”)

The best part about college was that no one cared what you did. No one said anything if he snuck into a lecture, late and hungover. People had no reason not to believe him when he said he missed class because he overslept or was too drunk when in reality he spent the day with his head between his legs trying not to think about how much he wanted to die. The people he fucked didn’t even care about the scars on his arms and legs.

Bruce still went home on the holidays, but it was like a different world entirely. He felt like a stranger talking to Alfred sometimes, especially as he lied about how well how he was handling it all. Sometimes, he suspected Alfred knew he was lying.

Bruce spent much of his four years this way. He passed his classes with only a little difficulty.

(When he actually showed up to class, things were easy. It was getting to class that was the hard part.)

He found numerous ways to not be alone when he was low, whether it was with parties or sex. Plenty of girls, and the occasional boy, passed through his bed. Bruce was happy to hand over a hundred dollars or two at parties to get better booze, since he was too young for actual bars, which made him popular. 

On one memorable occasion, he tried cocaine, but it made him hyper-focused and manic in a way that he hated. Weed had lost some of its mystique in high school, but he never turned it down when offered. Somehow, some latent self-preservation caused Bruce to avoid pills and needles. He had seen the listless gazes of their users, and he knew deep down that if he got low enough, he wouldn’t be able to trust himself with them.

Bruce was hungover when he crossed the stage at graduation. He was mildly guilty to be face-to-face with Alfred, who had taken the trouble to fly there and to accompany Bruce home. Bruce sucked it up on the short flight back and was somewhat sober for dinner, where Alfred had prepared his favorite food and a cake.

“Congratulations, Master Bruce,” Alfred said with a proud glow. Bruce accepted the praise with the same numb detachment that he had faced on and off for the past four years. It was only at the insistence of his classmates that Bruce had a graduation party planned for that weekend.

(Only, he didn’t actually plan it himself, one of the perks of being wealthy. The party was ready with only a few words of input about entertainment and menu.)

Because he knew that Alfred wouldn’t approve of his “friends”, Bruce had the party set at his penthouse downtown instead of at the manor. A lot of the guests were New York adjacent and were having their drivers take them the hour or so ride to Gotham. In a fit of pettiness, Bruce aso invited Vicki and Harvey, who went to Penn State and Gotham University respectfully.

 

Bass shook the windows from outside of the apartment, where a DJ was set up near the terrace pool. A few guests were dancing and even more were in the water, mostly in their underwear instead of swimsuits. Inside, where the music was muffled, people milled about, talking or drinking from the open bar. There was a bartender behind a full bar and a buffet table where food was continuously replaced by wait staff, prepared by a chef in the penthouse kitchen. It was, without a doubt, the hottest party in Gotham and invitation only. 

Bruce let security worry about who was supposed to be there and who wasn’t. He wasn’t worried about anything, to be frank, and two hours into the party, he found himself sitting on a couch with a beautiful girl in his lap. She was wearing short shorts and his hands were firmly in her back pockets while they made out. Bruce was drunk enough to wonder if he could fuck her right there without anyone noticing (and drunk enough to hardly care if anyone did). He was distracted from his dilemma by a voice asking,

“Bruce?”

He pulled away and saw Vicki and Harvey standing there, looking bemused. Bruce hated to admit it, but they looked great. They were also wearing significantly more clothing than most of the other party guests.

Bruce gave the girl on him a short pat on her ass and said regrettably,

“We’ll have to pick this up later.”

She pouted but said, “Aw, okay,” and got off his lap. She tossed her blonde hair back and left without acknowledging Vicki or Harvey. 

Bruce put on a smile and greeted, “Hey guys, glad you could make it.”

He stood but made no move to approach them due to his excited state. Harvey was still looking at where that girl went.

“Question: was that your girlfriend and, if not, can that be my girlfriend?”

Vicki rolled her eyes while Bruce shrugged. “Sure; go for it. If you’re worried about sloppy seconds, I haven’t screwed her yet.”

He had just met no more than twenty minutes before they started making out, so he wasn’t particularly attached. In his drunken state, he couldn’t even remember what her name had been.

Vicki looked put out. “You guys are gross. Why am I friends with you?”

“Because of our charming personalities,” Harvey answered at the same time Bruce said, “Because I’m rich.”

That was a little too close to how Bruce actually felt, but the other two didn’t pick up on it. Instead, Harvey said,

“Oh, not to be a narc, but we saw someone snorting coke on our way in here.”

Bruce shrugged again and said, “It’s fine.”

At their bewildered look, he elaborated, “Rich kid parties tend to attract rich kid drugs.”

Harvey looked around and seemed to notice all of the casual affluence seeping out of the party goers and the littering of designer handbags and shoes on the floor in front of the pool entrance. 

“Damn,” Harvey began, “no wonder I felt poor as soon as I walked in here. I thought it was just you.”

Vicki added, “I thought you hated rich people parties.”

“Yeah, well people change,” Bruce said, more acridly than he had intended. He didn’t want to tell them that he was only throwing the party at the behest of his classmates, that the only human contact he had had for the past four years was through partying and fucking.

There was an awkward silence, jagged where it used to be easy with them. To fill it, Bruce asked,

“Do you two want anything to drink? I have a bartender.”

Harvey accepted the opening graciously and said, “I’ll take a beer.”

“Maybe a martini for me,” Vicki said.

Bruce escorted them to the bar and put in their orders. When they got their drinks (Bruce got a whiskey and coke for himself), they relocated to a more quiet area of the penthouse. It wasn’t totally secluded; the party guests were like packs of roaming cattle, but it was quiet enough that they could talk without raising their voices. They could almost ignore the sound of sex happening in one of the bedrooms next to them, which Bruce was too tired and too tipsy to deal with.

The trio spread out on some white leather lounge chairs in what Bruce assumed was some sort of sitting room. The last person to use the penthouse was his uncle and Bruce hadn’t cared enough to update the aesthetic for a single party, even if it did make him feel like Scarface. The presence of cocaine at the party didn’t help.

Bruce leaned back and asked, “How have you guys been? Any big plans now that we’re all college graduates?”

“Not me man,” Harvey said, “I think I’m gonna work for a year before applying to law school ‘cause I know it ain’t cheap.”

That honestly surprised Bruce. “Law school?”

Harvey gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah, that’s crazy right? But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense to me. I want to keep people safe and make sure that people who shouldn’t be out of jail stay off the streets.”

Bruce wasn’t sure, but he felt like Harvey’s decision was a reflection on Harvey’s father. Bruce had never learned the details, but he knew that Mr. Dent spent time in prison for something that Harvey never elaborated on. And he knew that Harvey hated his father, if the way his expression grew stormy whenever the topic of parents came up, along with the fact that Mrs. Dent was one of the most delightful people Bruce had ever met.

“That’s great, Harv!” Vicki put a friendly hand on Harvey’s shoulder. “As for me, I’ve got an internship at the Gotham Gazette. Hopefully something comes from it.”

“Awesome. I’m happy for both of you,” Bruce said and he was surprised to find that he meant it. Time and distance might have put them out of whack, but at the core these were still his friends. Bruce wondered how his life in college might have changed if they had been by his side. 

“What about you, Bruce?” Vicki asked. “Do you have anything going on?”

Bruce shrugged. “I guess I should work at WE, but I have no immediate plans.”

“Sometimes, I really envy you man,” Harvey said with a laugh and Bruce almost snapped back that Harvey shouldn’t envy him, that all the money in the world hadn’t stopped Bruce from wanting to die, but he refrained himself. Instead, Bruce forced a smile and said,

“I could always hire you, Harv. Make you get me lattes every morning.”

Harvey flipped him off with a grin. “Fuck you, Bruce.” 

Things went easier after that. Bruce’s ribcage loosened and for the first time in a long time, his head quieted a little. After chatting about nothing for a while, they got more drinks and Harvey wandered off in pursuit of the blonde Bruce was with earlier. 

Bruce could only snort and send him off with a raise of his glass. “Look at that beautiful bastard go.”

Vicki was trying and failing to contain her giggles. “I’m not sure if him making it is good or bad.”

Bruce looked at her, with her rosy cheeks and full pink lips and remembered why he had fallen in love all those years ago.

“Hey, do you want to dance?”

Vicki stared at him wide-eyed. “I thought you hated dancing.”

“I do,” Bruce admitted. “But, you know, we never finished our dance after Harvey interrupted us.”

Vicki smiled softly and said, “Sure.”

More people were in the pool than on the deck now that the sun had truly sunk below the Gotham skyline. The pool’s interior lighting gave the area an almost romantic atmosphere. Bruce requested a slow song from the DJ and when it started, he held his hand out to Vicki.

“May I have this dance?”

She rolled her eyes but took it.

As they swayed back and forth, the background faded, and Bruce found the courage to ask,

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“You aren’t subtle, Bruce,” Vicki teased and Bruce’s cheeks, already warm from alcohol, brightened even further.

“I’m just asking as a friend. I’m not looking for a girlfriend right now.”

And that was true, for the most part. The no-strings-attached sex was about all he could handle at the moment. The thought of someone trying to probe deeper was a panic-inducing one.

“Well, just for your information, I am.”

That knowledge didn’t sting like it once might have. Time must have softened the blow.

“What’s his name?”

“Bentley Shawcross.”

Bruce wrinkled his nose. “That’s a stupid name.”

Vicki slapped his shoulder playfully and said, “You are such an asshole.”

For his part, Bruce took it in stride and shrugged. “One of my many talents.”

There was a brief lull and Bruce found himself appreciating his position with her, in that moment. He thought about how his teenage self had been devastated to have lost her. What a difference four years made. The song ended and Bruce pulled away with a sad smile.

“But seriously, I’m happy for you. You deserve the best.”

Vicki stared up at him like she had just seen him for the first time. “You’ve changed, Bruce.” 

Bruce shook his head. “We’ve all changed.”

He wasn’t sure he had changed for the better, considering his current habits. Vicki must have felt that subtext because she tilted her head and asked,

“Are you okay?”

They moved away from the deck now that a more upbeat song was playing and dancers began to cover the floor again.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied. She looked him dead in the eye and Bruce knew at once that she could see through his bullshit. 

“You seem sad.”

“Thanks,” Bruce deadpanned.

“I’m serious Bruce,” Vicki insisted. “Would you even tell me if something was wrong?”

Bruce didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

Vicki sighed. “Would you at least tell  _ someone _ ?”

“There’s nothing wrong Vicki, don’t worry about me.”

“I’m always worried about you!” She said with such vehemence that Bruce was taken aback. She caught his look and lowered her voice. She confessed,

“I know you used to hurt yourself, okay? I don’t know if you still do it, but I can look around at all these people and know that none of them care enough to ask if you’re alright.”

Bruce froze. His chest was squeezing too tight and his ears thundered. Eventually he managed to choke out,

“How?”

“I saw your arms once when your were roughhousing with Harvey. I didn’t say anything because I thought it was none of my business, but I wish I had.”

Bruce felt like he was going to throw up. His heart was beating too quickly and his stomach churned. He had never wanted her to see that ugly side of him. He could barely focus on what she was saying, he was so distraught.

“Are you listening to me? Bruce? I’m only telling you this because I want you to get help if you need it.”

She could not only see the cracks in the wall but she was on the verge of finding the rotten filth underneath. Bruce wasn’t sure if he was ready for anyone to see that, let alone the girl who had once been the love of his life. It honestly terrified him; he had done such a good job of pretending his whole life so that nobody would look close enough to see the cracks. His heart felt like it was beating in his throat and despite the screaming in his head he did what he could only think of: he pushed her away.

“The only thing I need right now is a good fuck. I was hoping it was going to be with you, but I guess I was mistaken.”

Vicki didn’t look angry or disgusted; she just looked disappointed which was somehow worse. Her mouth pressed into a thin line but all she said was,

“Alright. I’m going to go check on Harvey,” and left. Bruce’s goal had been accomplished but his ribcage felt too tight again and his head kept screaming that he had done wrong. More than anything, he felt like he needed a drink. 

Bruce sauntered over to the bar and ordered three whiskies, neat. He downed all three, one after the other and tried to his best to focus as the world tilted on its axis. His chest still hurt and the room felt crowded, smothering. Suddenly, he didn’t want to be there. He couldn’t stand to be at this party. He hated that he had even thrown it.

Bruce staggered over to the front door and stepped out, needing desperately to get some air. The bouncer greeted him in the foyer and Bruce slurred, saying,

“Tell them the party’s over. Kick them out if you have to.”

The bouncer nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Bruce made his way to the elevator and from the elevator to out of the building and into the humid night air. Gotham was only partially awake and still panting from the heat of the late spring day. Bruce’s skin felt too tight over his body and all he knew was that he had to get away. 

Bruce managed to walk several blocks before it became too much and he had to step in an alleyway to puke his guts out. It should have made him feel better but it didn’t. He slumped up against the wall and pressed his face against the cool brick. How had he managed to fuck so much?

Bruce wiped his mouth on his sleeve, which was disgusting, but he was already such a mess he could hardly care. His mind was still swirling, both with alcohol and anxiety. He knew what Vicki said was right, that not a single person at that party gave a damn about him. But it was one thing to know it and another thing to be told it. Was this what the rest of his life destined to be like? A shallow party where he would only ever find himself alone?

Bruce pressed his hand against his eyes, too drunk for this line of thinking, which was probably why he didn’t see a masked man approaching him. Bruce was snapped out of his pity party when a voice barked next to his ear,

“Give me your wallet!”

Bruce opened his eyes and was met with a gun pointed at his face. 

Since childhood, Bruce must have imagined thousands of times where he would face the same scenario that got his parents killed, only he would do better. He was much bigger and stronger than he had been at eight. He had learned Judo and self-defense in high school and knew how to disarm someone with a gun if they were close enough. None of this mattered, because as soon as the barrel was in his sight, he might as well have been a child again for how terrified he was.

The man repeated himself but Bruce was frozen. It was like he was a million miles away until the gun pressed against his temple.

“What are you, deaf? Give me your fucking wallet, rich boy!”

All Bruce could do was stammer out, “I-I don’t have any cash. Only cards.”

The mugger assessed him and nodded. “Alright, then give me that fancy watch of yours.”

Bruce parted with it gladly and got pistol whipped for his trouble. He clutched his face and the mugger escaped through the alleyway, from where he must have came. Bruce could hardly care about him because once the immediate danger was gone, terror seized him again and he couldn’t breathe. He tried to remember a decade old advice he was given when this used to happen all the time.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breath out.

Slowly, Bruce was able to get to a place where it felt like he wasn’t going to die and he pushed his hands into his face. He hated this. Twelve years hadn’t done shit in making him stop being afraid. Bruce thought he had gotten over it by now, but obviously he hadn’t.

For a moment, he was lucid enough to consider going to the police when the reality settled in that he had just been robbed of a two thousand dollar watch. But no, the police wouldn’t help him. Even if the man hadn’t been hiding his face and, despite the fact that Bruce was supposed to be in “safe” part of town, the GCPD wouldn’t take him seriously.

Slowly, latent terror was replaced with anger and it grew stronger with each passing second. He hadn’t felt such animosity towards Gotham’s justice system since his parent’s murderer was caught and sentenced to a grand total of three years because of a plea bargain. He was a small fish in a big pond and catching bigger fish mattered more than the man facing justice for destroying Bruce’s life.

Suddenly, Bruce remembered a promise made over his parents graves. He told them that he would avenge their deaths and, more importantly, he was supposed to make sure that what had happened to him never happened in Gotham again. No child was supposed to face what Bruce had faced because he was supposed to stop the cruelty and corruption.

And what had Bruce been doing while he forgot about the problems of this city? Pissing his time away drinking and partying? No, he had been languishing, feeling too sorry for himself to face the real world. As heavily intoxicated as he was, Bruce knew that now that he remembered his promise, he wouldn’t forget it again. He was too tired of being afraid to forget it again.

Bruce wondered if this was what his mother felt like when she dedicated her life to helping those less fortunate, if she felt a renewed sense of purpose. 

Bruce began to walk back towards the penthouse, thinking about what he would do and how he could do it. First, he would have to sober up to think about this more clearly, but he couldn’t help but feel like, for once, he was on the right path. He was glad he had kicked everyone out because it was going to be a long night ahead. 

For now, he had work to do.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we have it. The big bad bat will come out soon. Hope y'all are enjoying and thanks for commenting!
> 
> Also, Yale doesn't have a forensic science program (nor does any ivy league school apparently) but I wanted our boy to still be in ivy league.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to becoming the Batman is a long and hard one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get this up. I really have no excuse, this had been handwritten forever. I hope that I'll get the next chapter out before the year is over.

Bruce - Age 25  
  


Once Bruce began to gather information about the state of the city, he very quickly realized how in over his head he was. The tangled web of mobs, gangs, corrupt police, and corrupt politicians was as massive as it was intricate. It didn’t take more than a few afternoons of watching the city work to see the deals and the cash trading hands. And all of this was to say nothing of Gotham’s abysmal poverty rate and how that intersected with crime and how the rich criminals in the city preyed upon the poor.

In short, if Bruce went out trying to stop crime with fists blazing, he would get his ass kicked or killed by criminal and police alike. He needed to be smart about this and he needed a much larger skill set than what he currently possessed, which was why he had to leave. If it was an option, Bruce would have preferred not to leave, for Alfred’s sake alone, but there was information out there that he needed to learn for his mission to be feasible. He would have liked to take Alfred with him, but just like college, he had to go on this journey alone. 

Bruce left in the middle of the night with a bag of clothes (mostly underwear and socks), a toothbrush, toothpaste, and ten thousand dollars in cash. He left his cell phone behind. After some deliberation, he left a note on the kitchen table. It read:

 

Dear Alfred

By the time you read this letter, I should be nearly out of the United States. I didn’t want to leave like this, but I knew you would try to stop me. I realized recently what I wanted to do with my life and now that I know, I must travel in search of the things that will help me. Please, don’t try to find me. I have to make this journey alone and when I’m ready, I will return.

Love, Bruce

 

Bruce took a chartered plane with a fake ID and passport to Japan. He didn’t want Alfred, or anyone else, to find him, and took care covering his tracks. He wanted to get as far away from Gotham as possible and some cursory research had given Bruce an idea where to start his training.

When Bruce first landed in Japan, his first thought was that it was busy. Gotham was busy too, but in a different way that was difficult to describe. Bruce was barely in a major city, but everyone and everything bustled around. There were a few signs in English, which helped point him in the right direction, along with a map he had brought. He ended up taking a train to a little town called Takayama, several miles north of Nagoya. 

As he lay back and observed the rolling countryside a measure of quiet settled over him. Bruce thought he might take Alfred here one day, if he had the time, once he got back to Gotham.

The town was small enough that Bruce found the dojo easily. He was exhausted from the 17 hour flight and subsequent train ride, but he wanted to get his business out of the way first. He rang the bell outside the compound and waited a few minutes for the gate to open. A young woman answered the gate and looked up at Bruce, sizing him up. In heavily accented English, she asked,

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking to study under Master Yoru. Can I speak to him?”

The girl hesitated. “Master Yoru isn’t accepting students at the moment.”

“Please,” Bruce implored. “I need his help.”

After a beat, the girl nodded and opened the gate fully. She beckoned Bruce in and he followed her into one of the many small buildings adorning the property. She took off her shoes and stepped into slippers at the step of the building so Bruce did the same, and she led him to a room where an elderly man was drinking tea at a floor level table. 

The girl bowed to him and said something in Japanese, hopefully in Bruce’s favor. The man answered back and after a brief back and forth between them, the girl turned to Bruce and said,

“I apologize, but he is not taking in new students.”

Bruce’s heart dropped but he stepped forward and pleaded,

“Please, Master Yoru, give me a chance. You are a skilled teacher beyond compare and I would do anything to be your student. I can even give you money, if you desire, but please I  _ must _ be your student.”

While he was talking, the girl was translating and Yoru’s response was:

“I don’t want your money, I want your respect. You beg for me to become your teacher but you can’t even do that right. Come back when you know how to ask properly, and in Japanese, if it’s so important for you to be here.”

Bruce was disappointed but that wasn’t a ‘no.’ He knew better than to push his luck and the girl him led him back out, through the gate. When he was past its threshold, she said to him,

“I wish you luck on your journey,” and closed the gate in his face. 

Bruce was suddenly aware of how exhausted he was and left to go find a hotel to stay at for the time being. He had a list of tasks to accomplish.

 

It took two months for Bruce to become mostly fluent in Japanese. In the meantime, he found work in a local restaurant as a dishwasher and then a busboy when he was fluent enough. He didn’t need the money, obviously, but he did need cultural experience and to prove he had some sort of work ethic. The more he learned, the more embarrassed he was about how he had demanded Master Yoru to teach him. No wonder Yoru had refused him; Bruce wouldn’t teach himself either if he had been that rude.

Now, he waited patiently at the front gate with a gift of expensive sake. He bowed when the girl opened the gate and noted that she seemed genuinely surprised to see him. In Japanese, Bruce asked,

“May I speak to Master Yoru?”

The girl nodded and led him into the compound. They detoured from their previous path to a garden where Yoru was speaking to another man. Upon their approach, the man was dismissed and and the girl bowed to Yoru. He bowed slightly to her and when his attention slid to Bruce, Bruce bowed deeply so he was horizontal with the ground and held out the bottle.

“I present this gift to you, Master Yoru,” Bruce said in Japanese. Yoru took the bottle with thanks so Bruce continued. Still bowing, he said, 

“I apologize for my previous behavior and I hope that you can forgive me.”

Bruce chanced a look upwards and saw Yoru stroking his white beard thoughtfully. 

“What's in the past is in the past,” he said. 

“Then I humbly beg for the opportunity to study under you, Master.”

There was an excruciating pause and then Yoru said,

“I'm impressed. Most foreigners do not come back after I tell them they must learn the language. Tell me, what is your name?”

Bruce continued to keep his gaze at his feet and didn't care look up. His heart was in his throat.

“Bruce Wayne, sir.”

“Very well. You may stop bowing, Wayne-san.”

Bruce stood gratefully.

“I will take you on as my pupil, but I must warn you, it will not be easy. Many do not last the first 3 months. Are you ready for that challenge?”

Bruce could barely contain his eagerness. “Yes, master.”

“Good. Nakamura-chan, please show Wayne-san to where he may put his belongings and to his lodging.” 

The girl stepped forward and said, “This way, Wayne-san.”

Bruce followed her and asked about her role at the dojo.

“I am master Yoru's grandniece and I am in charge of the dojo's physical upkeep and the non-training aspects of the students’ lives.”

“So you're in charge of the cooking and cleaning?”

Nakamura stopped to stare at him with a withering glare.

“Do not patronize me. Without me, there would be chaos. Cooking and cleaning make it possible for you to train without worry.”

Bruce held his hands up in surrender. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to offend.”

Nakamura said nothing and continued walking. Bruce wondered how it was possible that he kept fucking things up.

 

Yoru hadn’t been exaggerating when he implied how hellish the first few months were. Before he got to any martial arts training, Bruce had to go through physical training. It helped that he wasn’t the only student there, although he was the newest one, but his idea of a fun time wasn’t a five mile run up and a five mile run down a mountain at 5am. 

When they came back, they received breakfast from Nakamura (which honestly wasn’t enough food for Bruce.) After breakfast was meditation. The first time Bruce fell asleep during it, the next day he had to spend meditation holding a bucket of water over his head. After that, they did one hundred pushups and situps before they breaked for lunch. Then, they spent the rest of the afternoon going back into the mountain to cut down trees into fire logs. They carried the logs down in bags on their backs. After dinner, they could do whatever they wanted, within reason, and their one day of rest was Sunday. During the first week, after dinner Bruce just passed out until morning. His feet were bleeding by the third day.

Their class size quickly dropped from twenty-three to eight as Yoru gradually increased their training. Five miles because ten. One hundred pushups and situps became one hundred fifty. After three months of this, Bruce could easily say he was in the best shape he had ever been. He wasn’t exactly a slouch before but nothing else had ever worked his body so thoroughly. 

It was somewhat shocking the first time, after lunch, they began to practice punches and kicks instead of doing manual labor. They learned about form and balance and how to fall correctly and Bruce was sorely mistaken when he thought the physical part was over. 

For two months, after they got form down, they punched and kicked solid wood until their knuckles and feet bled, healed, and bled again. There became a period of time where meals were nearly a tearful affair because Bruce struggled to get his fingers to work his chopsticks. It became worth it the first time he was able to punch through a wooden post. 

In the meantime, they continued to practice against each other. They learned how to quickly duck and dodge and hit back twice as fast. Bruce could have stayed longer, but after a year and a half, he felt like he was ready to move on. He still had other skills to acquire and he was impatient to learn them. 

Before Bruce left, he thanked Nakamura for all of her hard work and he thanked Yoru for the opportunity to learn.

“I want to thank you for giving me a chance, Master,” Bruce said with a bow. They stood in front of the front gate and the sun was beginning to rise. Yoru smiled kindly.

“It wasn’t a hard choice, Bruce. Most foreigners do not come back when I tell them they must learn the language. The fact that you did and stuck around after, says a lot.”

“But still,” Bruce continued, “Thank you for all that you’ve taught me.”

“It’s a shame that you’re leaving us. We will miss you. I wish you luck in your future endeavors.”

“You too, Master.”

Bruce left, feeling bittersweet about his departure. Everyone had become like family to him and he was sad to go, but also excited about the future. So with one last look at the dojo, Bruce hefted his bag upon his shoulder and headed to the nearest train station. 

 

Bruce’s next stop was China, where he picked up various forms of kung-fu as he traveled across the country. He was mostly interested in learning about the application of qi, especially internally. After he spent eight months wandering through the country, he crossed into Russia.

There, Bruce pretended to be a British reporter and found a former KGB agent to teach him about the dealings of the mob, called the Bratva. He needed to learn about the habits and methods of organized crime if he was going to do anything about Gotham’s own mob problem. After six months he had enough information to complete his “book” and crossed into Finland. 

It took awhile, but he found someone to teach him about winter survival. Ansa was an older woman with silver hair and had a cozy home with many dogs and just as many mounted animal heads. She was well known in her village for her prowess in the ice and snow, especially with regards to hunting. 

Before she would teach Bruce, she had him survive three days out in the cold with nothing but a hunting knife, a pot, a tent, weather appropriate clothing, and a single match. He managed, with some help from the medical knowledge he had gained from his father.. 

When he came back on the third day, Ansa looked at him with raised eyebrows and said, “Well, son of a bitch, you did it.”

After that, she taught Bruce important survival skills like how to hunt and fish properly and how to skin and gut an animal. He learned how to identify plants he could eat, how best to keep dry, and, most importantly, how to ignore the cold. It was the cold and loneliness out in those woods that made things feel hopeless and when you lost hope, it very quickly went downhill from there.

After three months, he left Ansa, who pinched his cheek the day he was leaving and gave him a bag of reindeer jerkey “for the road.”

He spent three weeks in Germany with a clock and puzzle maker. After spending so much time working his body to the extremes, Bruce felt like he needed to work his mind too.

After that, he went to England where he studied escape artistry with Giovanni Zatara. His daughter, Zatanna, was cute enough that Bruce considered pursuing her, but in the end, it would have been a distraction.

He then went to Monaco, where he was taught how to race around the sharp curves and steep cliffs of Monte Carlo.

From there, Bruce went to Morocco. His goal was to figure out how to tail people without them noticing and the cities’ crowded marketplaces made a great training ground. He found work as a bodyguard for an antique shop in exchange for room and board and his training went well up until the end of the first week.

When Bruce returned to his room one evening, he felt that something was off as soon as he reached his door, but what it was, he couldn’t say. He was on guard when he entered his room, and for good reason, because there was a beautiful woman sitting on his bed. She wore a loose head scarf and a fitted white suit that Bruce could easily tell was expensive. She had dark olive skin and bright green eyes. Beyond all of this, Bruce could pick out in her posture that she was dangerous. 

“Who are you and why are you here?”

She smiled slowly and with a mild accent, she said, “I am Talia al Ghul, daughter of the demon head, Ra’s al Ghul. I am here to meet you, Bruce Wayne.”

Shock must have been evident on his face because she continued,

“Surely you didn’t think you wouldn’t attract any attention? It isn’t often a handsome American travels through these parts and stops robberies and muggings. People begin to talk.”

Bruce leaned against the door frame and tried not to project how tense he felt. 

“What do you want?”

“We want to help you.”

“We?”

“My father and I,” she clarified. “You appear to be training and you fight for justice, which is something you and my father have in common. He’s trained some of the most deadly fighters in the world.”

Talia stood and smoothed out her pristine pants. She was as tall as Bruce in her golden heels. 

“If you’re interested in joining us, I leave tomorrow at sunrise. I won’t wait for you.”

She walked past with confidence measured in every step and winked at him. Bruce watched her leave and listened to the clink clack of her heels as she left the hallway. 

Bruce shut the door when he could no longer hear her and considered his options. He didn’t know anything about Talia or her father. It could be a target against him but, he reasoned, if she had any intention of killing him, he would probably already be dead.

In the end, he decided to risk it and found Talia next to a motorcycle in front of his building before dawn. She wore black leather and her face was mostly hidden by her helmet but Bruce could hear the smirk in her voice when she said,

“Glad you could make it.”

He nodded at her. “Glad to be here.”

She got on the motorcycle without another word and he got on after her with his duffle bag. She revved the motor twice, probably waking everyone in the neighborhood, and sped off through the desert.  

They drove for about an hour, long enough that the sun was well above the horizon and day's heat was enough to make Bruce begin to sweat. They pulled into an airfield and, to Bruce's mild surprise, boarded a private jet.

“Your father’s very wealthy, isn't he?” Bruce asked with only a little sarcasm once they were seated in plush leather and the plane began to take off.

“He is what you might call old money,” she answered.

“I assure you we have all the creature comforts you could want.”

Bruce didn't doubt that, but he had the feeling that his training warranted very little luxury. They spent the rest of the flight mostly in silence with occasional pockets of quiet conversation and Bruce found himself continuously staring at Talia. It was an understatement to call her beautiful and the way her outfit clung to her body made Bruce's libido to take over.

They landed about four hours later--where, Talia wouldn't say--in more desert. The jet looked out of place in the barebones runway but Bruce didn't have time to take it all in. Soon, they were loaded into a jeep and drove for another hour and a half until a building rose like magic over the desert horizon. It was a stone fortress several stories high, white in the gleaming sun. Men with rifles patrolled a walkway at the top, and Bruce and Talia's jeep was stopped at the gate by another man with a gun. He looked inside the vehicle before he waved them through. For the first time throughout this whole journey, Bruce felt apprehensive.

Talia caught his expression and assured, “Don't worry. My father has many enemies and he protects his own.”

They entered the giant walls to see many stone buildings and a camp of tents. The structures were arranged in a grid pattern and they all led to a building that Bruce could only call a palace. He didn't have to wonder where Talia's father stayed.

They kept driving until they reached the palace. There was an older man standing out in the front of the entrance which had a grand staircase leading inside. His hair was jet black but grey at the temples and his skin was the same dark olive color of his daughter. He wore an ornate green tunic with gold jewelry.  When Talia got out of the car, he reached toward her. 

“Talia, my dear,” he said and kissed her cheek when she came close enough.

“It is good to see you.”

“You as well, father.”

Bruce stood a few feet behind her, feeling awkward. Thankfully, she introduced him:

“Father, this is Bruce Wayne.”

Ra's al Ghul gave Bruce a once over before extending his hand. When Bruce shook it, the other's grip was almost punishing.

“I must say you have piqued my curiosity Mr. Wayne, which is rare.” 

His gaze was penetrating with unnaturally blue eyes and Bruce tried his best to stand tall.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Come, Talia,” Al Ghul directed. “Show Mr. Wayne where he may stay at the moment. We will discuss his training at dinner.”

“Yes, father.”

Bruce followed Talia through the palace and was shown a grand room with a king-sized bed with a canopy and an attached bath. There were gold inlays on the ceiling and in the center of the room there was a crystal chandelier. Bruce suspected that they were real gold and crystal.

“I hope this will be adequate for the evening,” Talia said.

“More than enough, thank you.”

Compared to Yoru's, this was like royalty. Talia gave him a look--more heated than accessing--and nodded. 

“I will see you at dinner,” she said and then left. Bruce suddenly realized how filthy he probably was and took the best shower he had had since leaving the manor. A few hours later, a servant came and got him for dinner where Bruce discussed how much training he had done so far.

“I'm impressed at the lengths you've gone through for your training,” Ra's said while stroking his beard.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You have learned skills but here we will teach you not only those, but how to ignore suffering. We're going to teach you how to push your mind and body beyond what you thought was possible. Are you ready for this challenge?”

“Yes, sir,” Bruce answered, resolutely.

“Good.” Al Ghul nodded. “You will be escorted to the training camps. You will stay there until your training is complete.”

That was more in line with what Bruce thought would happen. He was taken to a tent city a mile away from the palace. Bruce was given a tent with a cot and a thin mattress. There were showers and latrines at either ends of the camp and a mess hall constructed with wooden benches and tables. Bruce’s duffle bag was taken from him and he was given plain, black, cotton clothing in return. So far, Bruce thought this all still beat being in the freezing cold. He soon learned how wrong he was.

Brutal was an understatement. The first thing they did each morning, after breakfast, was run in the desert for several miles after the sun had come up. Bruce threw up the first day, and he had sunburn for the first two weeks. 

They went head to head against each other with knives in a pit. You couldn't leave until you drew blood and you received no medical treatment unless you were on the verge of death. Bruce's previous training with Yoru gave him a slight advantage, but he still ended up with slit arms and legs (and his face on one memorable occasions.)

This was nothing compared to when they were starved and expected to continue their work routine. Bruce passed out the first few times, but, like Ra's had said, he learned to push through it. 

It was harder when they were randomly dosed with some sort of drug that made them see their worst nightmares. Bruce spent many nights curled up, seeing his parents and Alfred riddled with bullet holes in front of him. It became a kind of psychological torture, not knowing when it would happen or how long, until again, he learned how to focus through them.

In between this sanctioned brutality, they learned how to use subterfuge and misdirection to take down an opponent. They learned how to move in the shadows and step silently. They learned the quickest and most effective ways of taking a person down, dirty or not. It made the arena a harder place, but it meant they were growing.

The only balm in all of this was Talia, who sometimes came to visit him at night when they were supposed to be sleeping. She wouldn’t do anything to interfere with his training, like give him extra food, but she did offer distraction in the form of conversation. She helped him learn Arabic and Farsi and they discussed music, philosophy, and politics. She offered insights on how Bruce might protect Gotham. She gave him fighting tips and pointed out weaknesses in his opponents that he otherwise might not have noticed. He learned that she still had a burn scar from when she completed her own brutal training.

(“Why do you come here?” He asked during the beginning. 

“Because you interest me,” she answered with a secretive smile.)

Bruce wasn’t sure if he would have survived without Talia giving him hope and comfort. She was a steady presence in his tumultuous training. It was no wonder that their meetings became less philosophical and more carnal. They made love for the first time--on a blanket on the ground to not make noise--about six months into his training. It was funny, Bruce had had sex all the time in college but he didn’t recall ever looking forward to the moment after, where they lay in each other’s arms. 

Their rendezvous continued over the next nine months until Ra's had decided that Bruce had completed his training.

There was a ceremony held in a dark space beneath the palace lit only by candle light. The scant light threw shadows all across the walls. Bruce was given a black gi and stood in front of a sea of people in black robes. Ra’s wore his signature green. 

“Today, we celebrate a man becoming more,” Ra's began. “For fiftteen months, Wayne has suffered through obstacles most people wouldn't begin to imagine. He's faced hardships and overcome them, step by step, to join his brothers and sisters in the shadows. For he is not simply a man any longer, but a part of something bigger, something where his strength adds to our own.

I will shortly begin the ceremony, welcoming Wayne to the League of Assassins. But first, he must make his bones.”

When Ra’s was done speaking, a black clad figure handed Bruce an ornate sword with jewels in its handle. It had a good balance, not that Bruce expected anything less.

“Bring out the target,” Ra’s commanded. Bruce didn’t know what he expected to see, and perhaps it was naive of him, but it wasn’t an emaciated man being dragged out in chains. They set him down on his knees in front of Bruce on the cold stone floor.

“With your first blood taken, your training will be complete.”

Bruce stared down at the pitiful man, who was trembling and crying in front of him.

“P-please,” the prisoner whispered, “please don’t kill me.”

It didn’t take Bruce long to make a decision; he wanted to protect lives, not take them away.

“I won’t,” Bruce said.

Ra’s stepped forward, brows furled in anger and he hissed, “This man is a rapist. I thought your goal was to bring justice to this world. As long as he remains alive, he is a threat to innocent people.”

Bruce planted his feet and raised his chin. 

“That may be true, but it isn’t my job to decide who lives and who dies. I won’t become a murderer to dole out some twisted version of justice.”

He dropped the sword to the ground and Ra’s’ face twisted into something cruel. 

“You dare disrespect our traditions with your insolence? After all the knowledge I've given you, you're just going yo throw it away?”

Bruce stood his ground and nodded.

“Yes.”

Ra's stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, like he couldn't figure Bruce out, before he waved his hand dismissively.

“Very well. If you aren't with us, then you're against us. Take him away.”

Immediately, two sets of hands seized Bruce's arms. He yanked away and threw a punch but his arms were immediately grabbed again. There were too many people and he was quickly overtaken with several bruises to show for it. Before Bruce was dragged out of the room, he saw Ra's take out a dagger and slit the prisoner's throat without a spare glance.

Bruce was shackled to a wall in a jail cell, but for how long, he couldn't say. Partially because there was no natural source of light but also because he was pretty sure he was mildly concussed. All he knew was that it felt like hours before he heard two surprised cries, two heavy thumps and shortly after, Talia appeared with a set of keys.

“You're disobeying your father for me?” Bruce asked, uncertain, after she had freed him. He knew that she respected and feared her father above all. 

“If you stay, he will kill you and I would not like that to happen.”

Bruce was overwhelmed with a rush of affection for her, but he stifled it because he sensed the urgency of the situation. 

“Come, follow me,” Talia said as she peaked her head out of the cell, where two guards lay unconscious. 

Together, they snuck out of the palace and found a spare jeep. Talia put a cloth bag over his head, handcuffed him, and put him in the backseat, so he looked like a prisoner. Bruce could hardly breathe when they stopped at the compound’s gate. He heard Talia say to a guard,

“Father wants this one taken to the desert.”

There was an excruciating pause before the guard said,

“Alright, have a good evening ma'am.”

They sped off and as soon as they were far enough away, Talia gave him the go ahead to take off his hood and tossed him back the handcuff keys.

“I called the airfield before we left so they should be ready for take off by the time we get there.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said. “For everything.”

He hoped that imparted the feeling of gratitude he had, not only for her rescue, but her presence in his training.

“Don't thank me until you're out of the country,” she replied, grim. They sat in nervous silence until they approached the now familiar airfield. 

Before Bruce boarded the plane, they kissed desperately and only pulled away with reluctance.

“Can't you come with me?” Bruce asked. Talia shook her head. 

“Father will have figured what has happened by now and is already angry. I don't need to draw more of his ire. I'm sorry”

She kissed him again before she had to pull away with a sad smile.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” Bruce said back with a rush and he was surprised to find that he meant it.

He boarded the plane and as they began to lift off, he mused that all of the pain tolerance training in the world hadn't stopped the hurt of his heart breaking.

In five hours, Bruce landed in a savannah and began the next leg of his journey. After a lot of walking and some hitchhiking, he came across a large group of people who were gracious enough to give him food and shelter and even teach him some of their traditional spear based combat.

After a few weeks, he found adequate transportation to take him all the way to South Africa, where a famous hacker resided. He studied under her for less than a month before he found work on a cargo ship that was headed to South America. His rugged appearance and raw physical strength (all of those push ups were good for something after all) meant that he didn't draw any attention to himself, even though he was a novice sailor.

They shored in Argentina and Bruce spent two weeks doing odd jobs and asking around until he happened to come across an expert in poisons.

From there, he moved north into Brazil, where he learned capoeira. Through an odd series of circumstances, he became a bodyguard for a madame and her girls. He spent three months there, longer than he intended because he grew entirely too fond of all of them, which was perhaps a sign of his loneliness since he left Talia.

Next, he went to Colombia to learn the the ins and outs of the drug trade. He went undercover for the first time and, using some of his new skills he managed to get some low level sellers off the streets. He ran into a wall when it came to the bigger fish and he was forced to leave before his identity became compromised. 

He was on the road again and came to Belize, where he learned cliff diving and spelunking. He went to Mexico and learned about explosives (both how to make them and disarm them) from a pyrotechnic engineer.

All too soon, Bruce was back in the states. He bought a plane ticket after he crossed the border (illegally, because all proof he was American was back with Ra's) and he felt an equal amount of joy and dread to see Alfred waiting for him in Gotham International. After all, disappearing for five years wasn't exactly an easy thing to forgive.

But as soon as Bruce came close enough, Alfred pulled him into a tight hug, something he hadn't done since Bruce was a boy.

“My dear boy, I was so worried,” Alfred said into the ratty cloth of Bruce's hoodie. Bruce squeezed back just as hard.

“I know, Alfred, I'm sorry, but I had to leave.”

Alfred stood back and assessed him with a keen eye.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

Bruce nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

Alfred gave a slight smile and patted Bruce's upper arm.

“Good. Now when was the last time you had a home cooked meal?”

And just like that, the tension dissolved between them. On the way back Alfred asked what Bruce had been doing and Bruce explained what his goals were. There was a pause before Alfred asked,

“Are you sure about this, Master Bruce? This will be a dangerous undertaking.”

“Yes,” Bruce said. “More sure than I've been about anything.”

“Very well.”

Coming back to the manor was a foreign experience, even though not much had changed. He felt shabby standing in the grand foyer and the first thing he did after he showered was shave. It was odd looking at his reflection for the first time in a long time. Bruce was sporting some serious hippy looks and, even after he shaved, his hair was still shoulder length. He was about two shades darker and his muscle mass made him look…dangerous. Like he wasn't someone to be messed with. He didn't dwell on it for long.

After Bruce settled into life again at the manor, he tried his hand at helping the city. He wore disguises and stopped petty/violent crime while he caught it happening. After a month, it was clear that, much like in Colombia, he was only putting a bandaid on a wound that went too deep. None of his actions were deterring criminals, much less affecting the mobs that controlled the city.

“Perhaps, Master Bruce, the reason nothing is working is because you are just a man.”

Bruce grunted, waiting for Alfred to finish his point, as he continued walking around with the sonar device that was helping him map out the miles of caves beneath Wayne manor. They were in a cave on the east hillside, looking for a suitable base of operations. Currently, Bruce was building and testing everything out of the wine cellar, which was too publicly accessible and too small.

“A man is something that can ultimately be defeated and nothing to be afraid of, especially if you insist on not killing anyone,” Alfred continued.

“No one is going to change their behavior without incentive. I'm afraid criminals are a cowardly a superstitious lot and fear is the only thing they respond to.”

Bruce internalized this and continued walking. A few minutes later, he kicked a rock down an open cavern in frustration when, suddenly, a high pitch squeal rang out. Shortly after, hundreds of bats swarmed overhead, startling Bruce and Alfred to the ground to avoid getting hit. It was like a cyclone of noise and movement was above them and, for a moment, Bruce was genuinely scared. Minutes passed before the bats were gone and Bruce sat up, elated. 

“Alfred, I have an idea.”

The Bat was born shortly after. It took months of hard work, stalking the streets, and terrifying the corrupt, but he got a foothold in. The Batman became a myth, a feared name on every Gotham street corner, a boogeyman that criminals feared and for the first time in twenty years, Gotham's crime rate decreased. 

Bruce--no, the Bat--crouched low on a gargoyle and observed the streets below. It was a quiet, late autumn night with with little activity, now that he had driven most organized crime off the streets. It should have been something to celebrate, but he felt this itching for more under his skin. For all of his accomplishments, as the Bat stared into the dimly lit streets, all he felt was unhappiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! A lot happened and there were a lot of references in this chapter. Batman's origin story is part Batman the Animated Series with a Kill Bill reference thrown in there, part Batman Begins, part Batman Zero Year, and partly my own bullshit. 
> 
> I really hope y'all enjoyed and I can't wait to get to the final chapter!


End file.
